


How to Start over, Again

by HQ_Wingster



Series: A Teacup's Shatter [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Psychology, Safe Haven, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Reflection, Strength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 14:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14310561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: "I want you to know exactly where I am, and where you can always find me."In the moment before his death, Yuuri closed his eyes. As quickly as the sun had set before his skin, he felt its lingering warmth when his elbow brushed against Viktor’s. This stalemate between the pull and the trigger stopped everything to the microscopic level. Even Yuuri’s heart froze for a second. The rush of a bullet, perhaps, a hair's breadth from piercing the back of his skull. Even so, Yuuri felt at ease. Started from his toes, migrated up to his limbs, and to the rest of his extremities. Where the smallest things cumulated to one of the greatest moments in his life.In the goodness of health, through bicker or strife, to the edge of the world or at the end of a knife, ‘til death did he part. These were the conditions, written in the pages of Yuuri’s heart, when he fell in love with Viktor. All over again.***extended author’s cut toMake Me Bend or Break***





	How to Start over, Again

**Author's Note:**

> When Yuuri was on the bridge with Viktor, he closed his eyes. I wanted to delve into what Yuuri thought of during those final moments where he thought he and Viktor were going to die. The moment, itself, lasted for probably about a few seconds. But even so, I wanted to take a stab at Yuuri’s thoughts. This is also a request fic, somewhat, because a few readers from the main story reached out to me and wanted to know a little more about Yuuri. He’s been pretty secretive for a while, and they wanted to hear his thoughts and know where he was coming from. I obliged.
> 
> You don’t have to read the ending of chapter 2 for “How to Tame a Heart”  _ [first fic of this series],  _ but it does setup the context for this oneshot.  **:D**

The distant wail of a cicada opened Yuuri’s eyes.

The sunlight, creeping through the kitchen window, blinded him for a moment. A succession of blinks, followed by a migrating hand when Yuuri propped his elbow against his armrest. His hand hovered over his eyes as light filtered through his fingers. Bits of orange, tinges of yellow, warmed to Yuuri’s touch before he slowly dropped his hand. The lightest tap of his fingernails along the wooden table echoed a dull emotion, rippled from the contact and nestled against his heart. Like a slow death, but comforting in the sense where Yuuri could discern everything that was around him in the stillness of this space.

Yuuri’s t-shirt twisted and tugged at his arms and collar when he moved. Rocked back in his seat, squished against a back-cushion that cradled him like a baby. Listless, Yuuri slouched quite a bit. Enough where his feet dipped across the surface of the tiled floor, and he felt the chill when his socks climbed closer to his toes and left his heels bare to the dips and cracks scattered beneath him. Rested the back of his neck against the head of his seat, Yuuri’s gaze meandered around the kitchen of his childhood home.

He knew every floorboard, every corner, and every tile from memory. None of which had changed during the past twenty or so years since he first learned how to walk, and Yuuri half-expected the opposite. He knew he was in his safe place, that dormant  _ Room Nineteen  _ tucked between the spiraling hallways of his mind, but the acknowledgement didn’t fail to stir him. If he hadn’t stepped in this room for months, what did it mean if he was here now? The thought gnawed at Yuuri, dulling his senses when he blinked and found a hot cup of tea sitting in front of him, innocent as ever in this mind space.

Alone, but not alone.  _ Room Nineteen  _ walked on a fine line to balance reality and of the quiet horrors hidden that Yuuri couldn’t see yet. He sat a little straighter in his seat, careful to show as much as his mind needed to see. Even so, Yuuri’s rationale could only do so much when touches from his childhood home sprung into this space.

Yuuri heard the subtle thumps of Vicchan’s nose against a wall, bumping his head as he followed a wayward trail. A basket of clothing rested in the sun outside, growing fatter by the minute when towels were folded and placed inside. In the living space, where the guest enjoyed the buzz of the afternoon, a quiet trickle of the television struck a match of nostalgia and lit it under Yuuri’s hands when he picked up his tea. Nothing strange as of yet, but he didn’t see his reflection when he brought the cup up to his mouth. Even the taste was nothing, but it gave Yuuri something to do when he tipped his head back.

Lips pressed along the edge, Yuuri closed his eyes. A sweet aroma tickled his nose and soothed his soul. His fingers ran down a fracture along the side of the cub, how the cracks erupted from the base like the first limb off a cherry tree. Emerged because it had a purpose in being here, and it reminded Yuuri of why he could’ve been here.

Perhaps in his last moments, his mind offered a peaceful place where Yuuri could enjoy the small comforts of home before bleeding out from a silver bullet.  _ Perhaps. _ There a few too many variables to keep track of and Yuuri suspected that  _ Room Nineteen  _ had other things in mind. For demons lurked where Yuuri felt comfortable the most and nothing would ever change that.

Even in the space, he could call his home, none of the colors nor the warmth of the sun felt right against Yuuri's skin. It was as if this world wore a mask to please him, unashamed in feeding him lies when scorn was more appropriate over the tongue. As quick as Yuuri was in perceiving this, so soon did the kitchen morph into the prison Yuuri believed it to be.

A dim, intimate lighting replaced the sunlight through the kitchen blinds. Bright enough where Yuuri could only see the seat across from him at the table, yet dark enough where he would have to lean in and drop his guard to know who he was talking to. Suddenly, the feel of his clothes had changed in a blink of an eye. His warm, loose clothing became a suit and tie. Suffocating his collar and yet, Yuuri couldn’t undo the topmost button to relieve himself. Clutched in a personal shackle, a growl inched from between his lips when the chirps from the television tapered off from the outside. A simple switch, meaning he wasn’t alone in this nightmare dressed as a daydream.

He reached into his sleeves, coming up empty as footsteps echoed from down the hall. The scrape of a pair of dress shoes against the floorboards, and Yuuri could see hear the glint of a  _ Rolex  _ as someone adjusted the time. For the face had no hands and time was as useless as thinking there was an escape from the madness within. Yuuri fished his fingers out from his sleeve, and they rested near the cup of tea perched at his end of the table. Standing across from him, lips twitched into a grin, was a familiar face.

_ His face, to be exact. _

His double strolled across the tiled floor, a bit of flair with every step. Careful to step on the cracks to break a person’s back, and Yuuri surveyed his lookalike with a blank stare. For any twitch or any glimpse of an emotion would trigger his next move, and Yuuri needed to wait for his double to move a piece forward. Perhaps the  _ Queen  _ felt that her dress needed to swing, and she thundered down the chessboard of this scene like a bulldozer. Towering over the minute figure of Yuuri’s pawn before she smashed the black marble into a thousand pieces. Perhaps too much for an imagination, and Yuuri’s mind wasn’t going to work-double for the effort, but the visceral weight of the outcome came when Yuuri’s double sank into his seat right across from Yuuri.

A  _ King’s  _ capture marked the end to a game, but it was the versatile and boundless  _ Queens  _ that determined the outcome of the game. Yuuri knew this and yet, he did nothing to change his outcome. Poor planning on his part, or a chance to learn from his mistakes when Yuuri slid his  _ Bishop  _ forward across the checkerboard. Never to meet a  _ Queen  _ head-on, but a vigilant figure who knew when to slip from the shadows. That brought the end to Yuuri’s turn when his fingers wrapped around his cup of tea again. A fake sip, on his part, when his double yanked at his dress shirt and crumbled the edges for a fantastical look. Flirting didn’t work on Yuuri, as much as he wanted to believe it. His double knew his weaknesses, inside and out, so this is what he did.

Yuuri did love himself to an extent, but not enough where he would fall head-over-heels if he saw his own collarbone for once. However, this double was him, _ the appealing side built from a crumbled foundation of the heart,  _ and Yuuri couldn't help but feel jealous.  _ This-- _ the physical appeal--was all part of the equation of persuasion. Plus an added touch.

A hint of Viktor’s accent shone through the double’s words when he tilted his head ever-so slightly, and a mop of bangs followed with the touch.

_ “I see you’re engaged.”  _ A chin pointed towards the twinkling speck of silver, nestled against Yuuri’s chest. Hung discreetly by a chain necklace, and Yuuri did nothing to hide it.

The engagement ring was the only thing in this room that was real. To Yuuri, at least, when he squinted mildly at the brass loops and plating along the back of his double’s hand. As if a substitute for gold could do anything to hurt Yuuri now. He had his own brand of gold waiting for him and that was Viktor. Nothing truer than that in Yuuri’s mind, but that teased a smile over his double. No thought was blind or deaf to him in this safe space, so how could Yuuri forget that? Or rather, how could the double forget that in this facade for control that he thought he owned?  _ Oh, yes. _ Yuuri could read that too.

Neither could let their guard down. One false move and one would be eaten alive. Right at this table, where one would gut the other to proudly wear the name of  _ Katsuki Yuuri.  _ How could this  _ not  _ stir a wider smile over Yuri’s face? He dipped his head down to hide the glee from his double. Perhaps, he was the maniac in this situation. Splintered down his frame with gold sealing in the cracks ruptured over his skin. Yuuri had come closer to shattering than any entity that his mind could concoct behind a closed door, and his double saw a shade of that. Not of arrogance or of a devilish-need to attain the impossible; but indeed, Yuuri was the man to call for the impossible to become possible. For a split moment, at least, when Yuuri leaned forward in his seat. A casual fold to his legs when one thigh crept over the other.

“I’m engaged to the luckiest man in the world.” Yuuri felt the curve of his ring against his thumb, and the warmth tickled his fingertips.

His double narrowed his eyes, ever-so slightly. Nothing to fret over just yet, but this was  _ Katsuki Yuuri  _ he was talking to. The main one, the Yuuri that once knew better than to love again when Fate threw her dagger at his heart. Not two years ago, but  _ six  _ when Yuuri happened to glance up and he peered into the galaxy surfaced across Viktor’s eyes. Caught in Viktor’s gravity, Yuuri couldn’t let go. Even if he wanted to, somehow, his thoughts lingered back to Viktor and this was the state that he was in. Engaged, but for how long? Married soon, but when? To Viktor, when will they break-up again?

Couldn’t Yuuri see how he was breaking the walls that served to protect him? When Yuuri first fell, who was it that consoled thoughts first before any other human? Who else knew Yuuri, flaws and all, from the time he was aware of his  _ Room Nineteen  _ to the man he was now? Who, by any slip of the tongue, protected Yuuri when he needed it the most? Who gave him shelter from intruding thoughts, who nourished with courage to move forward? He was destroying the very system that kept him safe, and there was so much that the mind could take before it, too, fractured along the seams and wedged out from its foundation.

In all fairness, Yuuri found himself bored with this exchange. Sure, his double brought up a good point. Indeed, he was a broken man that needed a bit of guidance for a few years, but Yuuri learned how to handle himself when he couldn’t even trust himself on some nights. He had walked through this shadow of doubt, more times than he could count. By now, it felt like a scenic route. That, alone, loosened the topmost button on Yuuri’s collar, and his clothes loosened just a tad bit for him to breathe. Loose enough where the beautiful handle of his switchblade dropped into his breast pocket and snuggled closely against his tinkering heart. He was in control, but by the edge of his knife.

His double wasn’t weak, either.

This Yuuri took control during those lonely two years when love was stomped out from the soul. This was the feared, the remembered, the hated, and the haughty  _ Eros  _ that could seduce anyone to the bed sheets before sculpting a masterpiece across the mattress. Legs spread, arms molded into the story meant to tell, and every bit of flesh was chipped and sliced neatly down the middle for a convincing signature. Where fingers folded and fiddled at a knife, snapping bones with a quick thrust, laying out a jigsaw puzzle for the police to figure out before sauntering back into the shadows. The swish of his hips, the low-cut collar that exposed a collarbone that could kill, and those were the hands and feet that Yuuri used for those two years when his double was in control.

Yuuri could tilt his head and say that he didn’t remember any of that, but his body sure did. He could still feel a beating heart between his fingers before he snipped at its lifelines. He could still hear the rasp of breath from a flapping hole in a punctured lung. He could still taste the metallic perfume that hovered like a haze after his work was done. Yuuri could still see the blood stained across himself when he turned on a faucet and plunged his hands into the cascading water. Nothing was ever forgotten or washed away. Still to this day, there was a certain restroom in Hasetsu that Yuuri couldn’t look at in the same way again. Not after all the times he cleaned himself in front of the sink before spilling the morality that choked him in between tears.

Yuuri’s double didn’t remember any of that. Only kept the memories of when Yuuri did what he had to for survival. Not the morality, not the bleeding guilt that tattooed every name in a corner of Yuuri’s mind. Where every night for two years, he stared at those names and relived their final moments before he earned another kill.

Neither glamorous nor beautiful, neither a work of art or a scribble, and neither a peace of mind or a rested heart. There was nothing proud about what Yuuri did, and his double parroted lies back to his face. This was their relationship, an enduring one that knew nothing of the leaps and bounds wedged between them. Stuck in a stalemate that began to shift with their words, fired back like a loose bullet because neither had better aim than now. Viktor would’ve been proud by how Yuuri steadied his hands for the invisible trigger at his index finger. Tapped against his leg when his double argued back.

_ “Viktor will hurt you again.”  _ The twirl of a switchblade between his double’s nimble fingers, and Yuuri watched the show with tinted eyes. As if he was wearing his glasses and merely looked so that his double believed that he had an audience at his disposal.

“Viktor and I are moving forward from our mistakes.” Yuuri balanced his engagement ring over his thumb.

_ “Commitment? Praise? Love?”  _ Each word, accompanied by a scoff and a flick of a knife.  _ “These are the concerns that’ll bring back the nightmares.”  _ Yuuri’s double leaned across the table. He wore his best deceit after a simple brush of the bangs. The change was as quick as anything else in this imagination, but it splintered Yuuri’s breaths.

It made so much sense that Viktor was the living embodiment of what he had been through.

Sitting before Yuuri was Viktor,  _ fake-Viktor  _ for ease, and there was nothing to distinguish him from the real Viktor. Sure, their clothes were different and Viktor wouldn’t have exposed himself by much of a degree. But the way fake-Viktor slouched back in his seat, the shake of his bangs when words failed upon his lips, it was so Intune to the Viktor Yuuri had come to see and understand during these past few days. How things wanted to be said, but they died. From fear? From pain? Reluctance to hear the truth, so they were carried along the veins. This “nightmare” that Yuuri’s double wanted him to see, it was anything but the bolts and screws of an imagination. Dot to dot, this was the Viktor that Yuuri spoke to during the taxi ride.

Yuuri was already living his nightmare, but it wasn’t a traditional one. There were no jump scares, no points in running away from a spectre in the shadows, no adrenaline rush to get him moving, but it was a real nightmare that Yuuri once saw during his two years without Viktor. As sad as it sounded, and Yuuri admitted that he might’ve been “a bit” melodramatic about the whole affair because of where he was at the time. Newly recruited to the Tokyo Syndicate, aware that dying was quicker than falling asleep, and the thought left a hefty mark on Yuuri’s shoulders when Yuuko was assigned as his partner for those first few missions in the underground.

Back to the topic at hand, what haunted those ballistic nights was the lingering guilt that Yuuri had hurt Viktor. Viktor was a teacup. Neither short nor stout, but his heart sure felt that way when the relationship broke off so suddenly. Quicker than the draw for a gun, and Viktor couldn’t dodge from the blow. That was a mistake, knowing that Viktor had time to crack and break a few times over before he could seal himself with parchment before he fell apart. Yuuri had found him in that state, a shivering little teacup amongst a myriad of other dishes at an airport not too long ago.

To hit another nail on this coffin, Yuuri couldn’t do anything to heal the fractures. They were too large, and Viktor could barely hold himself at times. Even when he feigned strength so that Yuuri knew he had moved on, for just a little if he could. Viktor didn’t need to do that. He could’ve been honest, and Yuuri would’ve understood of him. Perhaps, this was what his mind wanted to him know. Viktor had secrets, and Yuuri had played ignorance for so long that he didn’t know when it was time to reach out and let his lover know that he wasn’t alone. Armed with that, Yuuri couldn’t help but slap his thigh at how stupid he had been for a while. More than just “a while”, but he and Viktor could start over again.

Not just with their love and affections, not just with the pretty moments, but the raw chords in between and this tricky bird called  _ communication.  _ Indeed, they needed to speak more often. Not just with Yuuri initiating, but Viktor’s effort as well. They were like a disease, made just for each other, and the only cure was to communicate and heal from the inflictions they handed to the other.

Yuuri swallowed that solution, and it was stuck at the halfway-mark on his throat when fake-Viktor began to cry. Unknowingly, at first. The tears spilled down and rolled delicately off fake-Viktor’s face. It seemed so odd to Yuuri until he realized that he had never seen Viktor cry. There were times where he might’ve noticed a tear or two from allergies or pain, but this sight numbed Yuuri. How could he say or think of anything when he couldn’t even imagine how Viktor would cry. It was as if a doll was sitting in front of him, unaware that he could brush his hands against his eyes to stop the tears. But no, they flowed and pitter pattered across fake-Viktor’s knuckles, and he didn’t know what to do.

_ “Do I…”  _ Fake-Viktor cleared his throat, or attempted to. He blinked steadily, hoping that his lashes could wipe away his tears if they could.  _ “Do I look strong to you? Yuuri...” _

The faded whimper of his name moved Yuuri’s body. He leaned across the table, reaching his hand out, and caught one of fake-Viktor’s tears. No a smidge of mockery was on Yuuri’s face, but why would it be there anyway? There was nothing wrong with crying, to feel the release of everything that was coiled deep inside. Yuuri swept fake-Viktor’s bangs to the side, and a teardrop curved over the edge of his finger.

“I’ve never seen you cry.” The statement sounded so... _ dead. _

Yuuri apologized, unsure of what he could right now. His mind told him that he should say everything that he needed to say and apologize formally. His heart had other things in mind when it commanded Yuuri’s arms to slip down to the curves of fake-Viktor’s shoulders. They felt real, they felt exactly the same as the shoulders Yuuri had once studied when the real Viktor embraced him not too long ago. The same cuts, the same indentions of the shoulder blades, and the same warmth when Yuuri pressed himself softly against fake-Viktor. Pressing his cheek against the soft hair and feeling as fake-Viktor unwound like a tabletop toy.

_ “The sun’s coming down,”  _ Yuuri whispered when all he could hear were their heartbeats,  _ “and no one can hurt you now.” _

If he and Viktor were to marry one day, Yuuri knew he could count on those words. He would have them hidden up his sleeve when Viktor met him at the front of the altar, his hands in Viktor’s hands with the rosiest smile neither of them had ever seen from the other. And after the embraces, the tender touches, when gold slipped upon their fingers; Yuuri would stand on his tippy-toes and whisper his little phrase into Viktor’s ear. Viktor wouldn’t know what it meant, but he would understand that it came from the heart and that he truly wasn’t alone. Anymore.

When Yuuri opened his eyes from the reality in his head, his first glimpse of the sunrise was accompanied by a lingering touch. He looked down and a blurry outline stuck out to him. Nestled next to his fingers, holding onto him during these last moments, was Viktor’s hand. Viktor had reached out for him, and the glint over his engagement ring meant everything.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A running trend through this AU is the imagination, the lies we tell ourselves, and breaks in reality. It’s very much psychology-based where the characters have convinced themselves of something and to move on, they have to destroy the misconception that they’ve bought up for an extended period of time.
> 
> Psychological thriller is a genre that I love to study. I’m not quite sure of how to write a thriller because it can be mostly action-based and very tense. So I “cop out” with a psychological-aspect. Seeing how the mind works and how influences can alter things is very fascinating. I do believe that it helps a lot with characterization and understanding where characters are coming from. It’s not exactly a niche that I’ve made for myself, but this is the most comfortable form of writing that I’ve done. I would love to explore this approach through other genres.


End file.
